21

So is it not with me as with that Muſe,
Stird by a painted beauty to his verſe,
Who heauen it ſelfe for ornament doth vſe,
And euery faire with his faire doth reherſe,
Making a coopelmnt of proud compare
With Sunne and Moone,with earth and ſeas rich gems:
With Aprills firſt borne flowers and all things rare,
That heauens ayre in this huge rondure hems,
O let me true in lue but truly write,
And then beleeue me,my loue is as faire,
As any mothers childe,though not ſo bright
As thoſe gould candells fixt in heauens ayer:
   Let them ſay more that like of heare-ſay well,
   I will not prayſe that purpoſe not to ſell.

Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).